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A Man in Saffron Robes Translator's Preface In 1974 Maitree Limpichat, author, newspaper columnist and government official, left a wife and two children behind to put on the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. He traveled from Bangkok to Thailand's northwestern-most province of Mae Hong Son, situated not far from the frontier with Burma. There, along with the other monks in the mountain-top temple of Phrathat Doi Kong Mu, he joined in the daily activities of the brotherhood of monks, the sangha. Those who do not read Thai will find this account compelling, for above all A Man in Saffron Robes maintains a uniquely Thai perspective on the tradition of entering the monkhood during the rainy season Rains Retreat called phansa. In another sense, it is also one man's journey on which the reader travels along to the far north of Thailand and experiences it through the eyes of a son of the South then living near the bustling metropolis of Bangkok. Khun Maitree has not written a treatise on Buddhism; his story is not a scholarly explication of what it means to study the Dhamma, the Buddha's Teachings, in the contemplative environment of the temple. The reader may be surprised at how matter-of-factly, how worldly and at times how humorously Phra Maitree's priestly experiences are. Therein lies the charm of his story. The Mae Hong Son of A Man in Saffron Robes was an isolated, rustic town where modern conveniences were scarce. Travel and communication were difficult. Structures were built largely of wood topped by thatched roofs, materials that were abundant in the nearby forests. But the beginning of the ninth decade of the twentieth century finds the town of Mae Hong Son very much changed. There are many cement and glass structures. Thatched roofs have been replaced by those made of corrugated, galvanized iron. At the inter-section of Khunlum Phraphat and Singhanat Banrung roads stands the town's first traffic light that governs the right of way for a never ending stream of noisy motorbikes, scores of jitneys, pickup trucks and the not infrequent auto-mobile. Away from the intersection stands the Krung Thai Bank with a sign proclaiming the availability of instant cash from its automated teller machine.
The natural, mountainous beauty of Mae Hong Son remains. To be sure, the forests near the town are more sparse and remain endangered by slash-and-burn agriculture, natural forest fires and illegal cutting. Overland travel from Chiang Mai (the largest city in the North and a burgeoning tourist center) is still long, arduous and fraught with the hairpin turns of mountain roads. Smooth-flying jets now ply between Mae Hong Son and Chiang Mai in barely half an hour, replacing the small, propeller-driven aircraft that bounced around up- and down-drafts, and that once made air travel to Mae Hong Son an adventure. The fog and mist remain year round features of the town. And from time to time the fog is so dense and visibility so obstructed that planes attempting to land at the local airport must circle back and return to Chiang Mai. Scores of back-packers can be seen wandering around town on their way to and from the guest houses that provide cheap lodgings. At night the farang, or Westerners—mostly Europeans and some Americans—convene at outdoor restaurants to share talk of their travels down the Pai River and treks through the forests to various hilltribe settlements. Locals talk of still more changes to come and of new hotels and resorts to draw moneyed tourists from Chiang Mai. Land prices in town are soaring. It is said that money from overseas is fueling the real estate boom, particularly from Chinese seeking a hedge against the reversion of Hong Kong to the People's Republic in 1997. Witnessing these changes from a mountain some 1,300 meters high is the temple of Phrathat Doi Kong Mu, its two chedi, or stupas, visible from the town below. Here too much has changed since 1974, when early each morning Phra Maitree and the other monks would make the arduous descent to town on foot to receive offerings of food from the faithful. Nowadays the monks of Phrathat Doi Kong Mu negotiate the muscle-aching trip to town and back in motorized jitneys or trucks.
While much has changed, visitors will find that the indomitable spirit, gentleness and hospitality of the people of Mae Hong Son remain. In the face of inexorable change, and perhaps with an awareness of its pace, the people of Mae Hong Son are determined to remember their history and preserve their culture. In this we can only wish them well. Wherever it was necessary to transcribe Thai words, I have followed the Royal Institute of Thailand's system for transcribing Thai into the Roman alphabet. Although widely used, the Royal Institute's system is not an accurate phonemic rendering of Thai and has its drawbacks in that it does not represent the characteristic pitch or tone that is as much a part of each syllable as are vowel and consonant sounds; nor does it make the important distinction that is made in Thai between long and short vowels. Nevertheless, it is a useful system because it uses only the standard characters of the Roman alphabet. I have retained the popular spelling of proper names and words that appear frequently in English. I have also taken some liberties with spelling names of individuals who appear in the story, and these may not be consistent with the Royal Institute standard. Over the years, since first going to Thailand in 1967 as an American Peace Corps Volunteer to teach English at the Khu Khan district school in Si Sa Ket province, many have contributed to my understanding of the languages, the peoples and the cultures of Thailand. I must first acknowledge the patience and skill of Achan Noree Bisuddhanaraksh, Achan Poonpone Pujito and the scores of teachers who gave me a firm foundation in Thai. To Prasert, Rominee, Tawee and Somsri and their families I offer my gratitude for making my three-year stay in Thailand and my return visits a family affair. To the monks in residence at Wat Vajira Dhamma Padip in New York go my appreciation and gratitude for their patience in answering my many questions. I thank Dr. Thomas Hudak, Professor of Linguistics at Arizona State University—my good friend and fellow sojourner-for—providing an informative introduction and for reviewing my early drafts and the Thai original. I must also thank Marian Wassner for her helpful editorial comments. I, however, am responsible for whatever flaws remain. To Maitree Limpichat goes my heartfelt appreciation for his support, hospitality and for writing of his experiences under the title Khon Nai Pha Leuang. I am indebted to the late Suk Soonswang, Managing Director of Duang Kamol Book House Co., Ltd., for his encouragement and for all he has done to make Thailand more accessible by publishing translations of many worthy works originally written in Thai. To Neide, without whose patience and support I could not have completed what I had set out to do, and to the memory of my parents Alvin and Lillian Landau, who encouraged me to embark on a wonderful cross-cultural journey, I dedicate this translation. Stephen Landau |
The old and wise abbot of the temple, the Achan,
who is so prominent in A Man in Saffron Robes, passed away in 1986. His
photograph is prominently displayed in the main assembly hall. The isolation
that cut off the monks from the town below and made ordering medicines and
other supplies so difficult is a thing of the past. A glass-enclosed telephone
booth now stands incongruously at the entrance to the temple grounds.